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It didn't take long to clear out my things from the prosecutor's office. Hwang Youngchan, whom I'd expected to drag his feet, surprisingly processed my resignation quickly. After sorting my belongings over the last few days, sharing a farewell dinner with the team, my work as a prosecutor was completely wrapped up.
The days after that were a whirlwind. Registering the business, commissioning a sign for the office, hauling in furniture and fixtures, scouting houses in my parents' hometown where they could settle... Time blurred by in a frenzy, and suddenly, it was opening day.
Now that I'm not on a salary anymore, I need to cut back—even on gas money.
The office was close enough to the subway station, so I decided to commute by public transit. I left the car there for business use, figuring I'd only touch it for real emergencies.
Subway fare's 900 won, huh.
I hadn't ridden the rush-hour subway in ages. When I lived near the prosecutors' office, I'd walked; farther out, I'd driven.
In my 2018 life, smartphones were everywhere—people shuffling along, eyes glued to their screens. The scene here was worlds apart. Folks lined up densely on the platform clutched newspapers or books. A few even rocked MP3 players, relics by 2018 standards.
[The train is arriving.]
The crowd waiting for the train surged forward into the packed car all at once.
"Hey, stop shoving!"
Plenty were body-checking their way on. Grumbles erupted everywhere. I got half-crushed myself, a grunt escaping involuntarily.
Ah, screw it—maybe I should've just driven.
Paying the price for underestimating rush-hour hell? I barely squeezed on, but it felt like I'd get flattened. Passengers jammed limbs through the doors to claim space inside, leaving the train stuck, doors flapping open and shut.
"Aigoo, take the next one! No room!"
People at the doors played traffic cop. A few grumbled their way off, and finally, the train lurched forward. At this rate, I wasn't sure I'd even reach my stop.
What the—?
Then I felt something squirming behind me. I whipped around on instinct. A man behind me was awkwardly working his arm into the tight gap.
"Sorry."
He mumbled apologies to those around in a low voice, then bulldozed diagonally behind me. Now he stretched his arm toward my side—where a young woman in a skirt stood, engrossed in a phone game.
"...!"
Everything played out exactly as expected. She jolted in shock. The guy was kneading her ass.
Molester? Prosecuted a bunch like him just days ago.
The problem with these cases? Slim evidence. Investigations often hinged on victim statements, but denials dragged them into endless he-said-she-said battles. In a sardine-can subway, the "it was an accident in the crowd" excuse was practically scripted.
I quietly pulled out my phone and started recording from a perfect angle.
"Why—why are you doing this?!"
Her sharp cry drew every eye our way.
"He's a molester!"
She yelled, but he just fiddled with his earbuds like nothing happened, staring off elsewhere. Brazen bastard.
"You, right? Uncle?"
She whipped around, glaring at the man behind her.
"Me? Huh?"
He yanked out an earbud, feigning innocence. Repeat offender vibes, big time.
"You groped my butt!"
"What're you talking about, miss? No way. Absolutely not!"
As eyes turned on him, he waved it off, pleading to the crowd.
"Liar! You lifted my skirt too!"
"I didn't—look!"
"What do you mean, no?"
I cut in, and now all eyes swung to me.
"And who the hell are you?"
"A witness."
"What? This guy's nuts! Didn't touch her—what witness? Got proof?"
No need for chit-chat. I pulled out my phone and hit play.
"You gonna claim that's not your hand too?"
"Wh-what...?"
"Watch and cufflinks match yours perfectly. If you're telling the truth, what a coincidence."
The video showed him groping and flipping up her skirt clear as day. No wriggling out of that.
"This is bullshit!"
His face flushed crimson in seconds as he lunged for my phone. Too bad—young me outmuscled the middle-aged creep.
"What, trying to delete the video?"
"No, that's not—"
"Well, destroying evidence in your own case isn't a crime anyway."
I pocketed the phone and clamped his wrist. Train was about to stop; loose grip, and he'd bolt.
"Hey, let go! Get off me!"
"Miss. You reporting him?"
"Huh?"
"Need a witness? Happy to help. Prosecutor... nah, lawyer."
I fished a fresh business card from my wallet and handed it over. In 2018, sex crimes weren't complaint-based anymore, but here in 2008? If she bailed, it all vanished.
"Y-yes, I'll report him!"
"Off at this stop, then. Call the cops now."
Present offender—if I were still police, cuffs on the spot. Alas, lawyer life.
Train halted, doors opened. I hauled him off.
"Let go! I said let go!"
She'd already called it in, glaring daggers. He flailed wildly.
Waiting for the cops inside the station, I told her:
"Next time you spot a molester, skip the 'why are you doing this?' Yell 'Hey, you fucking creep!' instead."
"Huh?"
"'Why?' makes people stare at the yeller. 'You creep!'? They hunt the creep. Lucky for you, I spotted this one first."
I eyed him as I spoke. His fight drained; head drooped.
"Cops are here."
Minutes later, uniforms rushed in.
"Groping in a crowded public space, caught red-handed. Victim wants prosecution."
"Huh? Oh, right... And your relation to the victim?"
The cop taking custody eyed me and her. She glanced my way, anxious.
"Witness."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Lawyer, I don't even know how to thank you. Seriously, thank you."
After a quick investigation, she bowed repeatedly, still clutching my card tight.
Perp had two priors. Factoring in past settlements, probably a serial offender.
"No need. Rough start to your morning."
"When friends talked about molesters, it felt like someone else's problem. But me? Total panic... Forgot every tip I'd read."
"Happens to everyone. Smart move not settling—pushing for punishment."
With sex crimes being complaint-based now, settlements let pervs roam free. Money talks if you're desperate, but from a justice-seeker's view? Take 'em all the way.
"I'm Jeong In-ah, Korea University student. Was heading to class... Whew."
"Cha Juhan. As per the card."
"Right, yeah. Thanks again—can't say it enough."
"Don't mention it. College girl, huh? Not late for school?"
"Oh! Yeah, I am. Least I could do is buy you a meal..."
"Nah. Get going."
"Ah... Okay. Thank you. Really, truly."
She bowed deep and vanished. I glanced up at the police station.
Damn—opening day, and I'm already late.
"Prosecutor Cha Juhan!"
Hurrying out, the detective from the case dashed up, blocking me. No ignoring that.
"Detective Choi, long time."
"Yeah. Long time, sir. Was gonna play it cool and pretend I didn't see you. Haha."
Yangin Police Station fell under Central District Prosecutors' Office jurisdiction. Naturally, I knew most senior detectives here by face. Choi especially—I'd called him to testify multiple times, crossed paths during probes.
Impossible not to recognize. I'd feigned ignorance to avoid the perp's side crying "acquaintance bias" with their BS.
"Resigned, huh? Card says lawyer."
"Yeah."
"Aigoo, news to me. Big loss for Homicide 3, no? You just cracked the Jo Jintae case and shot to stardom."
"Stardom? Come on."
This harassment case would likely go to Prosecutor Lee Ye-jin. She handled most female-victim sex crimes. Might ping her later out of curiosity.
"Gotta run—running late."
"Ah, right. Holding you up when you're busy."
"No worries. Take care."
I snagged a taxi nearby.
Tried pinching pennies on gas? Just burned more cash.